Not Your Average Autobiography
by Pendemonium
Summary: *Companion to the story, Glory* Andy writes her autobiography. See what she has to say! Rated M for language.
1. Chapter 1

**Here's an unexpected surprise, no? I've been working on this in secret. I know, I betrayed you guys not telling you... but that's the point of a surprise! It's just a bit more stuff about Andy and her family and things like that. These won't be submitted as often, but it's just something I thought would be interesting to write. I just hope you all think it's an interesting read.**

**I hope I didn't make her family to be to... 'out there', you know?**

**I disclaim all that isn't mine, and I hope you enjoy the story.**

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I could start this out with a joke of some sort, but I think I'll pass. I know why you're here and what you're here so, so lets get on with it, shall we? My name is Adeline Elane Val. Most know me as Andy. Most people know me as a soccer player, a sports star, or the girl who lets no one step on her. I wish I could say that's true. It isn't always because, sometimes, you have to let people step on you.

I was born in Atlanta, a big city full of big dreamers, where I was to become one of them. My mother was a stay at home mom, my father a soccer player. I was born November 13th. From what I was told, there was a horrible storm that night, or something, I'm not fucking sure. (Just in case you don't know, this will probably be full of swear words. Just a warning…) They were scared that something would happen, like the power would go out. However, I was born and everything was fine. It was just some rain and thunder, is all.

My mother, Melissa Lauster, was born in Ireland. Her dad, my grandfather, was part of the Marines. Chris and his wife, Malinda, were there for years, and they had her. I never met my grandparents, but from what I was told, they were strict, but understanding and loving. I suppose you should expect that from a military family. My father, on the other hand, was born in New York. My other grandfather, Jeff Val, was part of a mob, or something. No one knew who my grandmother on that side is, because my grandfather liked to… 'get around'. My father never knew his mother. All we know is that she had brown hair. So Jeff raised this new born baby, named Jonathan, by himself. He was always in danger, from what I hear. My father had to grow up watching his back all the time… that the sounds of gunshots were often his lullaby to go to sleep to. His only outlet of emotion was soccer.

So he played. He got good, so good that he was kicked off his team as a kid. They didn't want him on there because he wasn't giving other kids a chance to play, and that he made them all feel bad because he was so much better. My father and I have that in common.

My mother met my father when they were in high school. They both went to one in New York. Neither of them graduated. Jeff didn't like my mother, so they ran away together. They kept running until they got to Atlanta. They lived together. My mother was getting money being a waitress for a while, while he played soccer with a local semi-pro men's league. They were together, they were in love, and they were happy.

Once they were in their mid twenties, my mother told my father she was pregnant, with twins. He was so happy, from what I was told. He's always wanted a kid, a son to teach soccer to. However, only one of the twins survived… me. My parents were sad that only one of their children survived, but so happy that one was able to make it. They were told that the possibility of my survival was astronomically against me. So, they took me in their arms, and named me Adeline.

Adeline is French. It means 'Noble', which is the opposite of what I acted like, or even was. I felt for a while that I was a disappointment to my dad. That he wanted a son to teach soccer to, not a daughter. I thought he thought that I was just going to be a prissy girl who played with dolls and wanted to have tea parties, and I thought that's what he wanted me to be. He wanted me to be noble, like a princess. I was just never like that, nor will I ever be.

My mother quit her job to stay at home with me. She was always with me. My first memory is of her. I was about four and I fell and my head hit the coffee table. I had a cut that was small, and went through my eyebrow. Even today there's still a scar. I remember her freaking out. She was so scared, she hates the sight of blood. She cleaned my cut, put a bandage over it, kissed my forehead, and told me that I should be more careful, that mommy worries about me being too reckless.

Someone should go back in time and tell her not to watch that game where my head was busted open and I got my head stapled shut. She was spot on about the whole 'reckless' thing.

Once I started school, I made my first friend. She had pretty blonde curls and was just such a girly girl. She was opposite of me in almost every way. Her name was Amber Hangler. We became friends the second day of school. The teacher asked everyone what they wanted to be when they grew up. Some said fire men, others say the same old average answer. Amber said she wanted to do charity work. To go to other countered and help people, and help people here too, by volunteering her time at soup kitchens and building houses. Everyone admired her for her wanting to help others, even myself. I admire anyone who dreams big.

When it came to me, I said I wanted to be a professional soccer player, like my father. He was one playing for a team in Atlanta. He traveled a lot, he was happy, and he was amazing… who wouldn't want to be like that? I wanted to see the world and play a sport that I've fallen in love with. I wanted to have that close companionship with a team. I wanted to win, for the world to know me.

I was laughed at. Girls said that was stupid, the boys said it's no place for a girl, and the teacher said that sports are a man's world, not one for a woman. I was so furious. I told the teacher that people thought a women's world was at home, but she wasn't there either. I told her she had no right to say things to me like that, that none of them did. A boy stood up, I think his name was Mike… he stood up and told me 'bitches don't play sports, they're too stupid'.

So I punched him. Everyone started to yell at me and the teacher told me to go to the principal's office. Amber got up, took my arm gently, and walked me out the room. Once we were down the hall, she laughed, saying that they were all idiots and that my dream was a great one, and that she believed in me. Our friendship started that day. She was the calm to my crazy. She was the gentle to my recklessness. She was the one who thinks before actions and I'm the one who acts first then thinks later. She lived by the saying 'patience is a virtue' and that being calm is better than acting out. I was the one who thought it's better to ask forgiveness than permission… and that if I needed to knock someone some sense, I would do it.

Her and I were inseparable. She had talents that I could never dream of. She could draw very well, even the faces of people by the time she was seven. She was the best friend I could ever ask for. We spent many days working at helping clean parks in the morning and playing soccer at night. She watched my Dad and I practice, hours and hours of practice, and she never got bored. She was, and still is, my biggest fan. Her family had a ranch. Her mother was a doctor and her father died when she was a kid, so I never knew him. We played in the grass, took care of horses, and even learned to ride. I loved the country, being there with her. It was so open and free. Her grandfather is what many would call a 'redneck'. He shoots his own food and uses the entire animal. He taught me how to fish, how to shoot, and things like how to skin a deer. I still remember all of those things. I was too impatient for fishing, but just like Amber, he was always patient with me. Amber was my best friend. She was the only person who ever saw the softer side to me, other than my parents. We watched Disney movies together, we sang along to the radio… we did anything that girls from the ages of five to the ages of nine would do. She was the first person other than my family that I trusted completely.

So, on that day, I was a wreck. We were walking home from school. She saw a homeless man on the side of the road, skinny as he can be and hungry. So, she ran over and gave him some money she earned. She was smiling and happy to do so. It wasn't much money, about ten dollars, but she was happy about giving it away. On her way back, someone turned and sped down the street. They didn't seem to care that there was a girl walking at the cross walk. They hit her, and kept going. I stood there, in shock. People screamed, someone even shoved me out the way to get to her, but I just stood there, with tears streaming down my face. I was taken with the ambulance. I was forced to wait in a white room, with magazines littered everywhere. I was never one to wait, and this made it even worse. I wanted to see my best friend. I wanted to hug her and tell her everything will be alright, that I'm here for her and I'll fight the son of a bitch who did it to her. To this day, I would probably kill that man with no hesitation.

My parents and her mother and grandfather got there. My mom hugged me and my father and Miss. Hangler were arguing with the people at the desk, trying to get information. I just sat there, staring at the wall. My mind was just replying what happened over and over and over. It was then I could understand why my mom didn't like the sight of blood.

A few minutes later, we were told she died. I had to watch someone who is like my second mother cry so hard. My mom was hugging her, and they both fell to their knees and cried together, one for morning the loss of their child, the other, for watching a friend suffer like that.

My father went to me, tears were in his eyes as he just put an arm around me. Then I did the only thing that seemed logical.

I ran.

I burst through the doors, my father chasing after me. He was faster than I was, but it was easy for me to navigate the sea of people. Tears burned in my eyes as I chocked back sobs and I kept running. My mind didn't know where I was going, I was just going. I never knew how bad it would hurt to lose someone, but to see it happen… it haunted me for the rest of my life. I should have walked over there with her. I should have ran over there and tackled her out the way. For a long time, I truly believed that it was my fault. Her blood was on my hands because I didn't do anything to stop it. That it was my fault.

I stopped at the park. I went until I was standing in a soccer goal, my chest thundering and my eyes now completely leaking of tears. I fell to my knees and cried like I never have before. No one was there, so I felt no shame in doing it. My father got there a few seconds later. He fell to his knees next to me and held me tightly. Amber was like another daughter to him. My father was the only father figure in her life, and he knew that. I know that that, combined with seeing me like that… it was almost unbearable for him. He cried with me and we stayed like that for hours.

At her funeral, I was the only one not crying. I placed a sunflower on her grave. Those were her favorite flowers… mine was the only sunflower up there. For days, I didn't speak. I barely ate. All I did was play soccer, and even that I didn't put my heart into. It hurt me so badly. I felt guilty, so guilty I felt sick. It took me weeks to act normally.

So I was pretty much alone in the world. I hadn't made another friend like that for years, until after I turned pro. I was too scared that they would leave me. I didn't want to feel that kind of pain ever again, so I just made it so I didn't. I spent my time doing things like video games, reading, and things that most people would say would make me a nerd. My parents were the only friends I had. They were all I needed in my mind. No one else but my parents, because they understood me, and they got me, and they loved me for who I am. They didn't want me to be someone I wasn't.

Middle school was a breeze. I got thought it with a few B's, but never any A's. I just didn't try as hard as others, and that honestly didn't bother me at all. High school was a different story. I had to keep my grades up there to play soccer. So I did. The rest of the team didn't like me, said I was too brash and cold. I was and still am too strong willed for some people. Too reckless, too angry, to everything, it seemed. No one wanted to be friends with me. My coach said it was because I was too good at soccer, and they were just jealous. I was the only freshman to make the varsity team since the school was made. They didn't like me, even thought we are a team, and on the field, we acted like one, but off, they wanted nothing to do with me. I was fine with that, because I honestly didn't give a shit if anyone liked me or not. It's never bothered me. No one has to like me, and I understand that a good portion of the people won't, so I honestly expected that.

I just didn't know how alone I was, until one of the only 'friends' I had left was taken from me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the next part of this! I hope you all enjoy! First person point of view is much easier for me to write in.**

**I disclaim all that is not mine.**

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Family means a lot to me. I couldn't have gotten to where I am with out it. It's something that has driven me to pursue my passions and my dreams since I was a kid. I was a daddy's girl, always wanting to do what Daddy did. When he ran, I ran with him. When he would drink coffee, so would I (Though, he'd make sure mine was 90% milk, 10% coffee) and when ever he wanted practice soccer, I was there with him.

So seeing him get sicker and sicker really messed with me. When we'd run, he would be going slow, and not because he was doing so because of me, but because he literally couldn't go faster. He was having trouble getting up in the morning and feeling energized, he even had trouble breathing. So he went to the doctors. I wanted to go with him, and be there, but my mom said that she wouldn't leave his side and that he'd want me to go to school. I tried to tell her that I could miss one day of middle school, but he told me he would be fine. He lied. It was the longest day of school in my life. The minutes felt like days and the hours like weeks. I even did poorly in English, which was my best subject. Then, after school, my mom was waiting for me. Her eyes were red and mascara was running down her face. I knew then that there was no good news. she didn't speak to me on the drive there, and after a few minutes, I didn't speak to her either. I knew that she was hurting, and I knew that if I was to start asking questions, she'd start to cry. So I sat there, being tortured with nit knowing what has happening. Once we got there, I didn't even wait for my mother. I ran in there, and asked where he was. A few moments later, I was staring in the room, seeing my father crying in his bed. I never saw my father cry before, nor will I ever again. It was one of the most painful things I've ever seen.

I walked in after he was done crying. I didn't want him to know I saw him. He took my hand and told me what the result was. He had Leukemia, and it was killing him. There was nothing that could be done but make it less painful for him. He had a few days, maybe. I took his hand and looked him in the eyes. Tears ran down my face as I told him how my day went. I knew my father wouldn't want to be treated like he was dying, so I wasn't going to until he actually did. He smiled at me, and I'm like to think he was thankful for not treating him like a piece of china... like he could be broken.

So I spent my days after school taking the bus and seeing him. I'd watch soccer games with him on the television, and we'd just enjoy each other, and once Mom got there, she'd enjoy it all with us.

I was at school, when he died. I was told that he passed away from a message that mom left at school. I didn't believe it. So I left school as fast as I could to the hospital. when I got there, I saw my mother crying over a person who was motionless. She looked up and saw me. The second her eyes met him, I knew he was really done.

I ran.

My eyes stung of tears and my head clouded as I just ran. My mother called out to me but I didn't stop, I couldn't stop. He was gone, and I didn't even have the chance to say good bye. He was my best friend. He was my father, and coach. I needed him, and still, in live, I do. I still look to what he taught me as a child to guide me though rough patches in my one knew me so deep down like he did, besides mom, but that day, I lost her too. She didn't die, but her soul was dead.

At his funeral, everyone wore black. Some cried, some didn't. I was the only one in a soccer jersey, because he told me that if he passes away, he'd want everyone to wear jerseys of soccer teams. I was angry that when I told my mother that, she ignored me. she even slapped me in the face for wearing the jersey. She didn't know she was doing it, she was so drunk. I was trying to hold it all together. I put the first soccer ball he ever game me into the casket, and wrote my name on it. He told me that he wanted my first ever signature, because he said I'd be a pro.

Sorry, Jessica Bailey. You got the first autograph at my first cap, but my father got my first one ever. I hope you can understand.

they lowered the casket into the ground, and everyone started to leave. My mother went off to drink some more, and I was there. I stayed there for hours, crying silently. I wanted him back. I hated him for dying, I hated God for taking him, and I hated myself for not being there to say good bye.

So, I was left without friends, or family... I was alone in the world. I acted like it didn't bother me, but it did.

My mother started to drink. If someone tells me that there is no such thing as alcohol addiction, I'd laugh in their face. My mother was fired for her job, and she used up all her savings on booze. I got multiple jobs to pay for our house, and food. For a long time, I hated my mother. I thought she was just making a mockery of my father's death. She hated me, too. She couldn't even look at me for the longest time without thinking of him.

I thought my life was done, that I'd have to live with my mother in Atlanta Georgia for the rest of my life letting her leech off me, and for her to crush my dream. I gave up hope of ever making it to be a professional. I told myself it was less heartbreak that day.

My last game at the high school, it was a championship. My team mates would rarely pass me the ball, since they all didn't like me, but when they did, I made it count. We won 12 to 2. The team celebrated without me, even though I scored 11 of those goals. They didn't want me, and I honestly didn't want to be there if I wasn't going to be respected. I thought back at the game. All game I saw someone leaning against a fence, just watching. something in me told me that that was important to remember.

The next day, I got a letter asking me to try out for the U.S. women's national team. The senior team. I thought it was a cruel joke, at first. Then I showed up. It was the senior team... and I was trying out.

No one talked to me at first, and I didn't talk either, unless it was needed.

I hear them talk about me. Nothing bad, just surprise that someone so young was there. Then we got to practicing PKs.

Hope smiles at he, in a confident way. It was smug, to be honest. she thought she'd have no problem at all getting this ball.

Then I shot.

She dove, and still couldn't get it. she wasn't smug for the rest of that day.

As the end, we were in the locker room.

Hope leaned against my locker, "How come you haven't said anything to any of us?"

I looked up at her and smiled, "I was scared of making myself look like an absolute fool in front of people who I respect."

From that day on, we all just clicked. I thought I wasn't going to make it, that this was just a chance and I was lucky to get it. then the final roster for the year was announced.

There, as number 21, was my name.

Looking back, soccer opened so many doors for me. I was lucky. It was luck that Pia was there that game. I owe so much to this game, this sport... I ow it my life. It turned my horrible life into one that I'm honestly proud to say was mine.

I wouldn't have had it any other way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Here we go! Finally, getting to the hosts!**

**I disclaim all that is not mine.**

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Before I made the national team, after my father passed away, I was a complete wreck. I never did drugs or drank alcohol, but I did worse things. I drove too fast, speeding at 90 miles an hour and so forth. I went to parties where people wanted to do drugs... I just didn't care. I even went so low as to just have a lot of sex. With what I was seeing with my mother, I started to believe that no one could love anyone. That everyone was just believing in a fucking lie. For years I believe that love was all a lie and anyone who believed in it was a complete moron just getting tricked by whom ever it was they were with. Because of that, I started just having one night stands and someone's friends with benefits. That was the worst moments of my life. In retrospect, I can see how stupid I was. I wanted companionship, I wanted someone there for me, but I was going about all the wrong ways of getting it. That kind of life, being promiscuous, it's for some people, and they can live that way if they wish, but not me. After a few years, I found out that I am actually just a one person, closed relationship kind of person. But then I just wanted anything to help me forget my home life, my sadness and how lonely I was. What I was doing was just making it worse.

I was called a slut, a floozy, a whore, all of it, for that part of my life. Honestly, I felt it too, but I just didn't care about what others called me, and I still don't. Do I think it's wrong for people to live that way? No, not if it makes them happy. It didn't make me happy. I hated myself for that. For what I did. I did all that just to forget, which is even worse. I didn't date, I was more interested in people whom I didn't have to have feeling for if they just left me, which I always expected of people, and sometimes I still do. Whats even worse is that they didn't care for me, either. It was just meaningless.

When I joined the national team, however, I had to quickly change all of that. I had to become more responsible and I couldn't just go out and do the things I did. That was a life changing moment for me and it honestly saved me from myself.

I made the team in late 2008, when I was 15, after the Olympics. After months of training and preparing, I was finally going to be playing my first game, against Canada. I didn't get to start the game, but I came in after half. It was in Abby's home town of Rochester, New York. I was literally shaking with nerves. Once I was subbed in and I took that first step onto the field, it all went away. I couldn't hear anyone but the team, I couldn't see anyone but theme either. I cut it all out and just played the game.

My first goal was a beautiful one. Heather O'Reilly passed it between two defenders, and Abby got it. Instead of taking the shot with the goal keeper right in her face, she passed with with her heel towards me. I got my left foot on it and it floated into the goal, hitting the back of the net. It seemed like it took me forever, like time slowed down. I went absolutely ballistic. I just took off down the field. I stopped in the center of it, and got tackled to the ground by Abby. Everyone just celebrated with me my first goal, and it was just heartwarming to see that they were just as excited for me that I was for myself, if not even more.

One wasn't enough either, I had to get another one the same game.

After the game, I had so many people wanting me to sign something for them. It was overwhelming, honestly. No one knew who I even was 45 minutes prior!

After the game, I had Abby talk to me, telling me that I shouldn't let it get to my head. It's overwhelming for everyone at first, even her. I just listened to her, and learned from her. I always felt like Abby was the older sister I never had. I was always pestering her in practice and asking for advice and some of the best advice I've ever gotten for not only the game, but from life, came from her.

I smiled at her and thanked her for helping me in practice. I told her that those two goals are from her teaching me. I said that, and she told me one of the things that I've never forgotten.

"Everyone needs help, but it wouldn't matter how much help someone's gotten if they didn't have the raw, natural talent beforehand, and Val, you have that ten fold."

I was stunned beyond words. I didn't know what to say.

So, fast forward to a year and a half later. Some people came, and some left. I was lucky enough that Pia kept me on the team. I was playing in Sweden, her home country. The score was 2 - 1, and I was a started. In the middle of the second half, I went to shoot. The second the ball went flying into the goal, I was tackled. For some reason they didn't count that goal, I guess it was because of the foul... which I think it should have counted still (After all, the foul happened AFTER I too the shot). My knee felt as if it was on fire. The pain was so bad, tears left my eyes as my scream echoed around me. Everyone in the crowd went quiet as I went to my side, crying. I don't remember much, but I remembered that there was a PK, and who ever took it I told them they better make it.

It seemed like a few seconds later where I was at a hospital, being told that I was going to be out for a while. I had snapped quadriceps tendon, a fracture on the knee cap and some Meniscal tears. I was torn up. I wanted to play, not be out!

I flew home, and got some surgery done. I was told that I may never be as strong as I use to. As soon as I could, I started rehab on my knee. It was the single most painful thing I've ever felt. Every movement, every stretch, everything made me want to cry and give up.

Soccer was my only love. It's the only thing I'm good for, really. So my will to keep going made it so I will not give up, simply because of the love of the game. I didn't want to be a quitter. I wanted to get to the World Cup in Japan! To the Olympics after that! If I just gave up, I'd never have the chance to even try. But, when I was out, I just started to do schooling. I tried to get as much of it as I could now so that later, I wouldn't have to go any of it. I did get a lot of it done, which I was glad for.

Slowly, after time, it started to be in less and less pain. I got to train a bit, start passing the ball after a few months. I was so happy to be back with a soccer ball at my feet. I got to train with the team, and be back on the roster. Pia took a chance with me for the world cup roster. She added me onto it, telling me that if she felt like I wasn't ready, I'd get replaced.

U.S. soccer booked me a ticket to Japan and sent me there, and even got me into one of the top schools in Japan to finish up my schooling. I was anxious, nervous, because I was leaving before the team did, months before. I studied Japanese as my language through middle and high school, so it was a good fit. I went there and was at the hotel we'd stay at for the games. I was a teen girl, alone in a foreign country and I was a bit terrified.

Then, it was my first day of school. The school was actually pink. I hated the color, and I still do. It's Pepto Bismol pink too, so it's safe to say it was sickening. It was a high class school, where all the people are sons or daughters of families who owned companies or had wealth. I was out of place. I didn't make much playing soccer, especially since I was out for months. It even had uniforms, which for girls were an atrocious banana dress.

I met with the schools chairman, and my 'class' representatives, even though I was taking my last few classes to graduate by their standards, I was still in year two, out of three. I was told about the school, the three classes I had to take, and then I was left to the class representatives. The vice class president was the chairman's son, Tamaki Souh. He wasn't full Japanese, to which I found out later that he was french as well, which explained his blonde hair. He was excited and bouncing off the walls. The type of person who gets excited over the littlest things. The president, who was also Tamaki's best friend, was Kyoya Ootori. My first thought was 'how can he stand the other guy'? He seemed like the calm and collected type. I thought at least he wasn't annoying... then he opened his mouth. At first, I hated him. He was cold, and mean, a first. He was sarcastic and smug, acting like he was better than me. That changed, later on, but it surely did anger me.

I wasn't expecting these two to completely flip my little world upside down, however. That was an unexpected twist.


	4. Chapter 4

Jim Morrison had a quote that enters my mind often. 'You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It's all in how you carry it, that's what matters.' That something that I find myself thinking about often. Just read that quote to yourself, all alone, with no one around to distract your thoughts. Think about all the times in your life that you wanted so badly to just break down, but you kept fighting instead. Everyone tells me I'm strong. It took me years to understand how they could see it. I was just a teen age girl, how could I of all people be strong? However, I was. And I am. And you are too.

Don't let anyone tell you you're not strong. If they do... flash them the bird and keep on keeping on. I don't know what you've been through, reader, or whats going on in life, but you're stronger than you give yourself credit for. That, I can guarantee. Got it? Good.

Back to my life, I suppose. I now end the unscheduled interruption to bring you back to the task at hand. Keep all hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times and whatnot.

I was literally an internal ticking time bomb. I wanted to get away from my mother, far away. So, U.S. Soccer set it up so that I would attend a Japanese school while waiting for the World Cup to start. I walked in as confident as I could, but I could immediately tell I was out of my place. This was the place for the rich and the 'snobby' type of people. Everyone was bragging about what kind of clothes their parents bought them, all the high class name brands. Honestly, it pissed me off. I had to work for everything I've earned, and here, people got handed shit for doing nothing? I was always proud of earning what I got, be it a ice cream as a kid or even my spot on the national team. It's the type of pride you get when you know you've earned whatever it is you've wanted, and you've worked hard for it. It was something my parents instilled in me as a little kid. I couldn't have my dessert unless I help mom with chores. I couldn't have that new shirt I wanted if I didn't make the money for it. I couldn't be a starting forward for the national team if I didn't pour everything I had to get it. Here... kids are just handed things to make them satisfied. Given things to bribe families to make a 'good show' about how 'close' two families are, when really, they were planning to back stab each other. It sickened me.

As I walked into the office of the man in charge, heard whispers of people talking about me. I just shrugged them off. I have nothing to prove to these people. I have nothing to prove to anyone, really. I looked up and saw a man with blonde hair that looked as if it was starting to gray. His name, as I called him, was Souh-san. He was very nice, and introduced me to his son. Tamaki Souh is and always will be the most understanding person. He can look at a person and just understand you, and what you're feeling. He was very nice and sweet. Tamaki showered every female with complements, but he actually ment them. He's a goodhearted person. He often referred to girls as 'princess'... which was weird at first. He is half French, half Japanese. There's never a time, even to this day, there I look at him and feel as if he's judging me, or anyone else, for that matter. He had the same blonde hair, without the grey, and there's almost always a smile on his face. He was just the Vice President of class 2-A.

This school has three 'classes'. 1, 2, and 3. Each are separated by letters, A, B, C and so on. It's weird.

Souh-san introduced both of the guys. Tamaki, and the President of class 2-A, and Tamaki's best friend, Kyoya Ootori.

Kyoya is the complete opposite of Tamaki. He's quite, calm and calculated. He seemed to be like the other people outside, at first. I hated him, really. He knew everything about me that anyone could Google. That unnerved me. He puts off a facade of being cold and uncaring. He was honestly a mystery to me when we first me.

After that, I left to practice on their soccer field. A few minutes later, I saw Tamaki and Kyoya once more, only now, they were with a bunch of others. Honey and Mori, who were cousins and pretty much always together. Honey was small, the shortest of us all. Mori was the tallest. Honey was loud and cutsie, while Mori was quiet. They were quite an odd juxtaposition. They were both in class 3-A, so they both were older than I.

The twins were honestly a bit of a nightmare. Hikaru and Kaoru Hitachiin. They love to be sneaky and play pranks on people, especially Tamaki. They were a bit mean to me at first. Not wanting me in their 'family'. The first thing they did upon meeting me was want to try and 'show me up'. (I ran circles around them, but that's beside the point.) Those pair come with mischief, but they're truly my friends, even to this day.

Last was Haruhi Fujioka. I honestly thought Haruhi was a boy, at first (I'll explain later on). She's a smart, and blunt person. She'll tell you the truth, even if it's hard to hear. But she's one of the best friends ever. She's understanding, and very kind. She wanted to be a lawyer, like her mom, at that age. She, as well as the twins, were in class 1-A.

So, my practice that day ended up with my shooting gals past all of them, except once. My knee wasn't fully healed, and at home, I was doing my rehab on it to make it strong. I thought that that day was a one time thing, but boy, was I wrong. My life was forever changed meeting them. The 'Host Club'.

After a few days, Kyoya came and found me at the field when I told my teacher I'd be in the library. I told him I didn't care if he told her, and I truly didn't. You see, in Japan, anyone who is a child of a rich and prestigious family always has to stay on their toes. They have to get to know people who would benefit them, even if they don't like them. That's how Kyoya and Tamaki's relationship started. However, Tamaki has a way of changing people for the better, and Kyoya was not immune from that. No one is, really.

That's what he wanted from me, at first. You see, his family owns a medical company. Many hospitals, medical equipment, doctors and such, all of that was owned by them... including the medical staff that was there for the 2011 Woman's World Cup. So, getting to know me would provide at least one good review of their staff, equipment and things of the like. I'm sure many of you know I dd that, but not because he wanted to, or because of who he'd become to me. I said such because, honestly, they were some of the best damn doctors I've ever dealt with.

After that, he had his club activities and I kept practicing One time, my knee gave in while I was kicking a PK, and it soared left, and next thing I knew, I heard a horrible sound. My ball hit the windshield of a limo, who, to avoid traffic and keep everyone safe, had to swerve off the road and hit a light post. I felt sick. For moments, I was sure that my accident, that my fuck up had caused someone's death. I ran over, ignoring the pain in my knee, and saw that t was Kyoya, Tamaki and Kyoya's driver. Kyoya was fine, just shocked. Tamaki had a small cut on his forehead, and for a while, it was believed that he had a concussion. He didn't. I learned years later that he had whiplash for a week or so, but, to spare my feelings and how bad I already felt, he hid that.

I did something that I just didn't normally do. I cried. I broke down in horrible sobs because I just felt so bad. I told Kyoya that I'd pay him back for the damages. I don't remember much anything, but saying sorry a lot. He told me to stop crying because they were both alright.

The next day, while I practiced I was missing every shot. I just didn't have it. It was a bad funk. What happened, the guilt I felt, it effected my playing, and I knew I needed to resolve this not only for my career, but for my inner peace... my soul.

So, I went to the club room where they met.

I should explain what a host club is. It's nothing sexual, just to start. It's literally a group of guys who simply spend time with females. They eat food and talk, and that's about it. So, in this room full of snobby, but perfectly molded females, I felt out of place. I was in work out pants and a tank top. I was soaked from the rain, and my hair was clinging to my face. I looked like a wet dog, a mutt, in a room full of prize winning purebreds.

All of the girls hated me. They said I did all that to hurt them on purpose. Kyoya stood up for me. After they left. I told Kyoya I'd pay back every cent. I kept going on an on and on until finally he stopped me. If his family did that, t would make them look bad, but, now, I know that's not why Kyoya did it. He told me that I could work for the Host Club in payment.

I accepted, and thus was now in the club... that changed my life forever. The hosts were to become the best friend I'd ever have, and will ever have. And, one of them, would be something more than that.


End file.
